


baby, love me lights out

by spaceburgers



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceburgers/pseuds/spaceburgers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby, love me lights out

**Author's Note:**

> this is a day late but happy birthday oikawa!!!
> 
> sorry that the first iwaoi fic ive written in ages is just pwp but this year is just a really awful and busy one for me which is why i haven't been writing as much BUT i hope to start writing a lot more regularly soon
> 
> also i made an iwaoi mix on 8tracks! listen to it [here](http://8tracks.com/desipientia/nobody-else-has-you-down-but-me)

Oikawa is shaking. Iwaizumi feels it, the minute tremor of Oikawa’s body as his hands skim over his chest, his arms, his shoulders, his thighs. He leans in, noses at the juncture between neck and shoulder, blows a hot gust of air over the sensitive skin there.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa looks up; his eyes are wide, pupils blown nearly black. He reaches up, curls one hand around Iwaizumi’s neck, pulls him down so their faces are barely inches away.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs in return. The corner of his lips quirks upward, and Iwaizumi presses his thumb at the corner of Oikawa’s mouth.

“You’re terrible,” he says. Oikawa smiles, reaches out to grab hold of Iwaizumi’s wrist, presses the pad of his finger to his lips.

“I know,” he answers. He licks at Iwaizumi’s finger, circling with his tongue, lets Iwaizumi push his fingers into Oikawa’s mouth, receives greedily.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says again, more shakily this time. Oikawa’s eyes are closed; his grip on Iwaizumi’s wrist is firm. He licks his way up the digits, then sucks.

“That’s enough,” Iwaizumi tries to say, but his voice comes out rough and scratchy. His throat is parched; he tries to swallow. Oikawa smiles, releases Iwaizumi’s fingers.

“I thought you said I could do whatever I wanted on my birthday,” he says, coy. Iwaizumi growls, drags his nails across Oikawa’s chest, makes him arch up into the touch.

“And here I was, thinking that for once in your life you’d actually _let_ me do the work.”

Oikawa laughs. “Maybe next year.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t reply. Instead he leans in again, kisses the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, works his way across his jaw, down his neck, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses there. Oikawa’s arms come up, winding their way around Iwaizumi’s back, hands roaming, fingers pressed against firm muscle, stroking admiringly. His eyes fall shut again, lets himself give in to the sensation of Iwaizumi’s mouth, Iwaizumi’s wonderful, scathing mouth against his skin. Oikawa lets himself groan, loud and shameless, mostly because he knows Iwaizumi likes it.

He’s right of course – he feels more than sees the way Iwaizumi responds to the sound; the way his hands become more adventurous, dipping lower, thumbing the V of his hips slowly, deliberately; the way his kisses get sloppier, more fervent, his lips travelling lower to Oikawa’s chest, pulling at Oikawa’s nipple with his teeth, making Oikawa moan again, even louder this time.

“Iwa-chan,” he gasps. His back is arching impossibly as Iwaizumi continues his ministrations. Oikawa digs his fingernails into Iwaizumi’s back, hears that quiet hiss of pain that escapes from his lips. “Hurry – hurry up.”

Iwaizumi ignores him. His pace slows down, his lips travel further down. He traces the cut of Oikawa’s abs with his tongue, pressing kisses to his skin intermittently. Oikawa whines, and Iwaizumi stops, lifts his head, fixes Oikawa with a piercing gaze.

“You’re always so impatient,” he says, pinching Oikawa’s side playfully. Oikawa yelps, more out of surprise than actual pain. Iwaizumi smiles, fondly. “We can take it slow this once, can’t we?”

“But Iwa-chan,” Oikawa begins to protest, but Iwaizumi’s already put his head back down, returning to his careful exploration of Oikawa’s body. His hands move, tracing nonsense patterns all along Oikawa’s thighs; his touch is feather light, and Oikawa watches him silently, watches the look of complete concentration on his face, the nearly reverential way in which he’s moving.

He reaches out a hand without really thinking, carding it through Iwaizumi’s hair. He plays with it, pushing it back, pressing it down against his head. Iwaizumi looks up again, and Oikawa’s hand slides downwards to cup Iwaizumi’s cheek. His thumb presses again his cheekbone, then slowly strokes his cheek. Iwaizumi’s eyes are very dark, and Oikawa’s feels a strange pressure suddenly welling up in his chest.

“Hajime,” he says, quiet. Something flickers in Iwaizumi’s eyes. He lifts himself up, leans forward, presses a kiss to Oikawa’s lips, slow and honey-sweet. Oikawa revels in it, relishes it, kisses back with equal intensity. His other hand comes up to Iwaizumi’s face too; he’s framing Iwaizumi’s face in his hands, holding him in place while Oikawa kisses him and kisses him. It’s surprisingly chaste, for all that’s not. It feels innocent, almost. It feels like the first time they kissed, all those years ago.

Iwaizumi’s thinking it too – Oikawa can see it in his eyes when he pulls away. He sees the spark in Iwaizumi’s eyes, the slight quirk to his lips, the look he’s giving Oikawa, so incredibly fond that it makes Oikawa’s heart ache.

“I want you inside of me,” Oikawa says, unblushingly. Completely seriously. He strokes across Iwaizumi’s jawline, lets his hands wander so they’re wrapped around his neck again. Iwaizumi kisses him again on his cheek, gently.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says. “Okay.” He leans over, rummages through their bedside drawer for the bottle of lube. Oikawa lies back, strokes himself languidly, lets Iwaizumi coat his fingers with lube.

Then Iwaizumi’s pulling Oikawa’s hand away. He leans forward, kisses the tip of Oikawa’s dick, and Oikawa barely has time to react before Iwaizumi’s pushing a finger in, sliding in with ease. Oikawa moans, loudly. He pushes back against Iwaizumi’s finger, fucks himself on it. He’s eager. Iwaizumi kisses the base of his dick again, moves his lips upwards, but he’s clearly distracted by the rhythm he’s building up with his fingers.

Oikawa says Iwaizumi’s name. Once, twice. Iwaizumi pushes another finger in, then another. Oikawa eggs him on the whole time, tells Iwaizumi just how good he feels, tells Iwaizumi how much he loves it, and _oh_ , he’s already been reduced to this state just by Iwa-chan’s fingers, how is he _ever_ going to handle Iwa-chan’s cock, Iwa-chan’s thick cock that Oikawa loves so much—

Iwaizumi shuts him up by kissing him, roughly. He bites into Oikawa’s lower lip, then licks, soothing. Oikawa moans, because he knows it drives Iwaizumi crazy, knows there’s nothing Iwaizumi loves more than the noises Oikawa makes during sex, knows there’s nothing that fires Iwaizumi up like Oikawa telling him in excruciating detail how good he’s making him feel—

“ _Oh_ ,” he groans, exhaling on the vowel. He throws his head back, screws his eyes shut. “ _Oh,_ Iwa-chan, right there, it feels _so_ good—”

Iwaizumi never replies to Oikawa’s dirty talk; he never joins in. He responds, instead, by scissoring his fingers, pushing it in with a renewed ferocity that has Oikawa’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. He’s losing his mind, probably; Iwaizumi’s fucking him so hard with his fingers, Oikawa thinks he could come like this, he’s right on the urge as it is, and if only Iwaizumi would just—

He pulls out with warning, and Oikawa whines at the sudden loss. He’s sweating – his hair’s sticking to his forehead, and Iwaizumi leans in, pushes his hair out of his eyes, kisses Oikawa. Oikawa doesn’t kiss back. He whines throughout the kiss, scratches at Iwaizumi’s back with his nails.

“Patience,” Iwaizumi says. He’s smiling.

“Fuck you,” Oikawa growls.

Iwaizumi kisses him again, more forcefully this time. His hands grab onto Oikawa’s thighs, hold them up.

“Hold on,” he says, suddenly, and then he slides in in one fluid motion.

Oikawa’s reaction is instantaneous. His back bows; his eyes grow wide. He shouts, hands scrabbling for some sort of purchase against Iwaizumi’s back. There will be finger marks there tomorrow, red and angry, but for now Oikawa can’t quite think of anything other than the heat of Iwaizumi’s cock, how it’s hot and hard and _perfect_ , fucking Oikawa just _so_ , hard enough so that Oikawa feels himself being shoved back against the headboard in time with Iwaizumi’s thrusts. He keeps his eyes open, takes in the sight of Iwaizumi, eyes closed, head bowed in concentration, hands gripping tight onto the headboard as he fucks into Oikawa. There’s sweat all over his forehead; his lips are slightly parted; the hard lines of Iwaizumi’s muscles show up on his arms. He’s never been more beautiful.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oikawa gasps, trying to catch his breath, but it’s hard over the mounting pressure at the base of his stomach. “Fuck, Iwa-chan, _Hajime_.”

Iwaizumi growls, lowly, animalistic; Oikawa surges upwards, grabs Iwaizumi’s face, kisses him. “ _Hajime_ ,” he’s saying, over and over again. “Hajime, _oh_ , that feels so _good_ , you’re so _good_ to me, Hajime, just right _there_ —”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi gasps, and then he’s slamming in deep and coming. Oikawa can feel it, that sudden flood of heat inside of him; he can see it, the way Iwaizumi throws his head back and groans, thrusting mindlessly as he comes, and it’s the look on Iwaizumi’s face – eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed, mouth parted – that finally pushes Oikawa over to the edge. He leans forward, pushes his mouth against Iwaizumi’s, and comes with Iwaizumi’s name on his lips.

For a long moment they lie there, a tangled mess of limbs; Iwaizumi moves first, pulling out slowly, then rolling over and unceremoniously falling into the space next to Oikawa. There’s come drying on Oikawa’s chest, but he doesn’t pay it any heed, lets Oikawa curl up next to him, pressing his face into Iwaizumi’s neck and inhaling his scent.

They stay like that for a long time. Iwaizumi’s hand traces absentminded patterns across Oikawa’s back. He watches the clock on their bedside table, red numbers stark in the darkness of the night. He watches as the numbers go from 11:59 to midnight.

“Hey,” he says. Oikawa lifts his head, gives Iwaizumi a puzzled look. He nudges Oikawa, lifts his chin in the direction of the clock. “’s not your birthday anymore.”

Oikawa doesn’t bother looking. He just laughs, pushes his face back into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck. “What a shame. Now you’re just going to go back to being the bully you are.”

“Damn right,” Iwaizumi mumbles. He feels his eyelids drooping. He shuts his eyes, yawns loudly. Oikawa snuggles in closer.

“It’s okay,” Oikawa says. His voice is raspy with sleep. Iwaizumi lifts his hand, cards his fingers through Oikawa’s hair. “You wouldn’t be Iwa-chan if you weren’t a complete jerk.”

“You’re the jerk,” Iwaizumi mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. Oikawa’s body is pressed right next to his; he’s warm. Iwaizumi can feel his heartbeat thudding against his wrist, beginning to slow down. He rubs his thumb across Oikawa’s pulse, not really thinking about it. Oikawa looks up at him, smiles softly.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Oikawa kisses Iwaizumi’s jaw. Iwaizumi’s hands finally settle, wrapped around Oikawa’s waist, pulling him close.

They fall asleep like that.

 


End file.
